The Dance of Seven Veils
by Persephoniii
Summary: Six years after the fall of Otogakure, the Kazekage takes a bride. But political marriages aren’t always what they seem. Some wars run deeper than village ties, and human conditioning has limitations. GaaraOC
1. Chapter 1

_A Peck of Gold_

_Dust always blowing about the town,  
Except when sea-fog laid it down,  
And I was one of the children told  
Some of the blowing dust was gold._

_All the dust the wind blew high  
Appeared like god in the sunset sky,  
But I was one of the children told  
Some of the dust was really gold._

_Such was life in the Golden Gate:  
Gold dusted all we drank and ate,  
And I was one of the children told,  
'We all must eat our peck of gold.'_

-_Robert Frost _

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or related characters**.

Edited 12-10-08.

Quick Terms:  
_Okiya _– geisha house  
_Shichou-san_ – Mayor

oOo

It wasn't _that_ strange, she decided finally, being called to the mayor's office like this. Even _if_ it had never happened before. Even _if_ the odd sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air around, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

…right?

She stopped, staring at the door of the office. It was a nice door -a shoji screen- much like the doors of the okiya, and must have been specially made, for she could hear nothing beyond it, no sound, no murmur of voices…

She rocked on her heels feeling oddly anxious. _Stalling_ if she were completely honest. The receptionist, seeing her hesitation, waved her impatiently inside.

He really _was_ expecting her, she realized nervously. Her_. Sumomo_. That in itself made her heart skip a beat. The okiya mother was the one who handled all her affairs. Okāsan did all the talking, all the negotiating. She herself knew nothing of business or administration, but the fact that _she'd_ been summoned here and not mother…

But perhaps it had to do with her brother. Yuuto wasn't even in town; he rarely was. She had no idea where he went or even what sort of work he did, but he did send the occasional letter, and at least twice a year got around to visiting her. Since he had no permanent residence and flat out refused to carry a cell phone, writing or even contacting him was difficult. Perhaps _this_ was the reason she was being summoned. Maybe they simply wanted her to pass along a message or something for when he _did_ get come into town...which, if his last letter was to be believed, would be in the next few days. She chewed on her lip, considering.

…or maybe something had happened to him. Maybe he was hurt…_or worse—_

"Odoriko Sumomo?"

The voice was unexpectedly close, and she jumped, watching with mild trepidation as the shoji screen slid open. She'd spent too much time fretting in front of the door; shichou-san did not look happy. His face, always thin, was made even longer by the pensive frown he wore, and his grey eyes, normally lined with a spray of crow's feet, seemed to have aged at least ten years.

"Please come in." His voice sounded strained, anxious, and she found his anxiety contagious as she stepped through the threshold and into the lavishly decorated office. It was the first time she'd been inside the place before. It was the first time she'd been this close to _him, _really. She knew who he was. Everyone in the city knew Mayor Higurashi. But he was simply a figurehead, more symbol than anything else. Important in his own right, certainly, but not someone she thought or even cared that much about. Since most political and business gatherings were held at the local teahouse she saw him fairly often, though this was the first time she'd ever paid any sort of _real_ attention to the man outside of generic politeness.

In public he was a smiling, genial man; middle-aged with salt and pepper hair and a quietly confident voice, but today was a startling contrast. He looked frail and weary, shoulders hunched over as though he bore a great weight. Why, his persona seemed as grey as the business suit he wore, she thought wryly, and then suddenly felt ashamed. She was not dressed to appear in such a place. His officials had caught her- in the middle of _shopping_ of all things – and she had been quickly ushered away, shopping bags and all. She still held the evidence, two large department store bags from _Mitsukoshi_ and _Isetan_, clutched forgotten in either hand. Maybe, she thought idly, she'd have time to go back after lunch—

"Sumomo-san?" she snapped to attention, wooden clogs sinking deep into the plush carpet of the office.

"I must apologize for such an abrupt meeting." He sounded grave, which did nothing to relieve her growing tension, but she could only nod and give an absent smile. She did not like this intrusion upon her time. Very rarely did she have free time, and to have it interrupted… She gripped her bags. Hopefully it would be over soon, but his next words sent a startled chill through her.

"I'm afraid I have some rather…startling news." He paused, and she was again struck. For such a prominent figure he should be used to speaking to the public, and yet he did not seem to know what to say or how to go about saying it, and it was making her uneasy.

He cleared his throat "I would have preferred to wait until your brother arrived…" here an indiscernible look crossed his face, and Sumomo had a brief moment to wonder at the fact that he seemed familiar with her brother's erratic schedule before he went on, "but it appears we haven't been given the _time_-"

"-the presence of her brother is not required." She jerked at the voice, bags swinging, and for the first time since arriving to the office, realized with a start that they were not alone. How she had managed to miss this fact she could not fathom. She _must_ have walked past them upon entering the room- _she had to have-_ but her attention had been fixed on the mayor himself. Now she stared, slightly disconcerted, at the two figures lounged in the shadow of the room. She was slightly nearsighted, and one of the figures stood so far back that she could just barely make out the blurred outline of a male. The other one, a female, was closer, and not too far off from her own age, she decided, though this was difficult to determine what with her stony expression.

"This is not what we asked for." The woman's voice was like liquid ice, throaty and deep. She couldn't place the accent. It was deep and guttural…foreign. As was her appearance. The honey blonde hair, the dark skin… The pigtails were questionable, but overall did nothing to detract from the woman's exotic beauty. A visitor? Someone important, if the mayor himself was taking the time to speak with her. Probably some foreign dignitary, she guessed, to speak to him with such casual apathy.

"Of course she isn't in costume right now," the mayor replied carefully. "In any event, I assure you that she _is_ a geisha."

Sumomo blinked. _This_ was what she'd been summoned for? It was the last thing she'd expected, and the confusion must have shown on her face, for the woman, the blonde, glanced over briefly before turning back to her companion- who was, she noticed, suddenly closer. An indiscernible look passed between them before the male spoke.

"_Don't test us_, Higurashi."

Despite the warning, it was an ordinary voice. The regular voice of a male in his early to mid twenties. Well, with the same throaty accent as his female companion, that is. And yet despite its foreignness, it sounded just faintly familiar. She'd heard that voice before, she was sure. Or one like it. But when she lifted a curious gaze to his face, she almost stepped back in horror.

His face scared her.

It looked inhuman, barbaric, lined in blood red paint and done in strange, linear designs. He wore a hood on his head, a little cat hood that reminded her ironically of those fuzzy little pastel animal caps that mothers sometimes dressed their children in. Except that _his_ hood was black and …well…decidedly _un-cute_, she thought, suppressing a shudder. Her gaze slid hurriedly back to his pigtailed companion, whom she promptly _regretted_ looking at, for the blonde's eyes perused her coolly before looking dismissively away. Sumomo felt insulted.

"We had hoped to select the girl ourselves."

"Never-the-less," shichou-san's voice, though still cultured and professional, sounded suddenly nervous. "This is…difficult to arrange. And the geisha are all quite similar, I assure you. If you've seen one you've seen them all. This one will work just as well for your…purposes as any of the others."

Sumomo stared, indignation widening her eyes. No one who was around geisha as much as shichou-san would _ever_ say such a thing. They _were not_ all the same! It was like saying every snowflake was the same, or like comparing the petals of cherry blossoms to each other. It was insulting, really, and she couldn't help the frowning pout that formed on her face. But what could she say? The mayor brought all sorts of business to the teahouse and okiya, and okāsan would be absolutely furious if she did anything to ruin it.

"And how do we know that this one is what you say? Are we simply to accept your word?"

Shichou-san didn't answer, seemingly at a loss. She found herself suddenly impatient, not to mention a little offended. She did not appreciate being dragged off the streets for something as inauspicious as this. _Really_…she thought huffing silently, _how rude_—

"Wait. I recognize that one." She turned, still slightly flustered, to the foreigner, the one with the painted face. Again she was struck by how familiar his voice seemed, but she couldn't remember ever having seen him before. The blonde narrowed her eyes.

"Was _this_ the one…?"

"No. This one was at the teahouse last night."

The teahouse. _The teahouse_. She did a mental backtrack. Yes, she was there, but there had been so many people in attendance that it was difficult to place any one specific person. Especially not _him_, and she was certain such a person would have stood out, even without the paint and outfit. His skin was dark enough that he would be easily noticeable in the sea of fair skinned natives.

"Then she _is_-?"

"Yeah, she's one of them, I'm sure." The way he said it did not sound like a good thing. The woman didn't answer, throwing a last suspicious glare towards Sumomo before stalking abruptly to the desk.

"If we find out she's not the real thing, our contract is null and void." The mayor visibly blanched, but nodded slowly. The blonde seemed satisfied, dropping what looked like a rolled parchment on the desk. "You'll be her witness, _obviously_-"

"Witness?" she suddenly found her voice, small and uncertain though it was. This conversation was taking a decidedly disturbing direction. The blonde pointedly ignored her, while the mayor himself did not appear to have even heard. Only the man, with his garishly painted face, glanced briefly over before turning back to the mayor, who had slowly unrolled the scroll, eyes skimming over it.

"Why isn't your Kage here himself?" instead of waiting for an answer, he plowed on, seeming suddenly desperate, grey eyes wildly panicked. Whatever calm he'd had before seemed to have dissipated completely. "Surely…_surely_ Kazekage-sama would prefer one of the other girls in the district. Perhaps one with a more _political_ upbringing? Sumomo is no such girl. A geisha is not reared to be a-"

_A what? _

There was a word floating in her head but she did not want to think it. Thinking of it gave it life, and that sort of thing just didn't happen. Not in _this_ day and age. Not _here_. Not to _her_…

"Little late for theatrics, isn't it?" the hooded man sounded bored, reclining against the edge of the desk and staring blankly out the window. "Don't forget you agreed to this. We gave you a choice. It was you who made the final decision."

_Decision_? She turned confused eyes to the mayor, who looked uncomfortable.

"It wasn't much of a choice! The Land of Rice Fields _has_ no military force! If you decide to wage war against us on a mere _whim_-"

And suddenly she knew. It hit her like a blow, the obvious, and she wondered why it had taken so long for her to realize. The gleaming hitai-ate should have been clue enough, but it had been so long since she'd seen those. _Years. _ Normal people didn't wear them. The only people who _did,_ were-

Ninja.

The word appeared unbidden in her head, a whispered warning of her subconscious. The room around her seemed to close in, and the full comprehension hit her all at once, knocking the breath out of her.

She was in the room with _ninja_. Killers for hire. _Mercenary_. Human weapons.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. The bags fell from her hands forgotten, arms hanging limply at her side. When was the last time she'd seen a ninja? It had been at least six or so years since the fall of Otogakure. There had not been a ninja in their country since that time. But now…now they were back, for whatever reason-

It couldn't be good. Whenever ninja appeared it usually signaled the start of something bad. Like a war. _Or worse. _She shuddered.

_Ninja_.

Foreign ninja, obviously, for their skin was darker than that of the residents of the country, and their throaty accents, though slight, spoke of a different region entirely. She felt faint, slightly nauseous, shichou-san's voice only a vague murmur above the roaring in her head.

"Sign the scroll, Higurashi. You've wasted enough of our time. Kazekage-sama will…not be _pleased_ with such a delay. He is quite anxious, as are we, to get the situation resolved." The woman no longer seemed quite so pliant, not that she'd ever been. Shichou-san seemed to sense this, for he covered his face with his hands, sounding mournful.

"I can't simply sign her off like some piece of property! The okiyadoes not even own this one! What am I to tell her brother?" It was a weak attempt, a desperate attempt that made the hair on the back of her neck rise with growing comprehension. _Too late_, she thought angrily, clenching her fists. An idea was forming in her head, an ugly, hidious one, fuzzy and indistinct and one that she hoped with all her heart wasn't true. The ninja man was right. It was too late to mime concern or regret when he'd summoned her here with the intention of—

But now the two ninja were staring at her, icy and accusing, and she found herself taking a stumbling step back, nearly tripping over her discarded bags.

"Girl! How old are you?" the blonde's eyes were sharp, and she found that her breath escaped her. It was the first time she'd been fixed full on by their gaze, and she didn't like it. There were rumors about nin and their strange techniques. Some were said to be able to kill a man simply by looking at them. And _truly_, she thought as she stared into those eyes, they must hold some sort of power, because it was suddenly hard to breathe. Her gaze darted to the mayor's, who was watching her intently. He seemed to be trying to communicate with her, to will her into an answer. But what could she say? What was the age of legality in the Land of Rice Fields? She'd lived here most of her life, but she didn't know… everything she'd ever done had been dealt with through either the okāsan or her brother.

If...if she _lied_ about her age, would they be able to tell? She'd been told she looked young; probably she could pass for seventeen if she tried. If that was the case, they'd be forced to wait for her brother. Or okāsan, since the woman had been her acting guardian in his absence. But…

They were ninja after all. Maybe they could read her mind… Or they could just as easily search her records- probably they already _had_ her records… Oh God, did they have access to that?

Damn! She'd waited too long. Their irritation had grown into outright suspicion, and she knew she'd never get away with lying now. Staring into the glaring blue eyes of the blonde, she found her mouth moving before she realized what was happening.

"T-twenty three…"

The male ninja frowned. "She's three years older than him…"

"Whatever. She'll do." This was said flatly, and the blonde turned back to mayor, releasing her from her glare. "If she's twenty three she can sign for herself, _without_ a guardian. In most shinobi villages a _twelve_ year old is considered a legal adult."

"But this isn't a shinobi village!" shichou-san cried, standing up.

"_Isn't it_?," Her gaze was piercing. The mayor looked away. "Regardless, she's about to join one, isn't she? An _official_ one," the blonde added snarkily, "unless you prefer the _other_ option?" Shichou-san sat, paling, eyes fluttering shut.

"Where do I sign?"

Sumomo's stomach dropped. "What's going on?" Higurashi turned to her slowly, expression grim.

"I'm sorry," and strangely enough, he did look sorry, though this wasn't enough to quench her fear, the growing horror pooling at the pit of her stomach. If anything, it made it worse, seeing shichou-san defeated in such a way. He was still talking, she realized slowly, though she'd already missed over half of whatever it was he was saying. "…assure you, your brother will be informed as soon as a message can be sent out to him." His fingers flexed, and then the pen was skating across the scroll. She stared at the pen, feeling inexplicably heavy.

"Inform him of what? What's happening?" she felt the beginnings of panic rise in her throat, and she swallowed it down concentrating instead on the mayor's sagging shoulders. He avoided her gaze, his grey eyes fixed steadily on the scroll before him, though the pen in his hand had long since stilled. It was the blonde who answered, voice cold and indifferent as she said the words that would change her life.

"You will be marrying the Kazekage. More specifically, when you sign this paper you WILL be married to him. As of this moment you are now a citizen of Sunagakure." She snatched the scroll and pen away from the mayor, studying it for a moment before inclining her head. Sumomo didn't move. Her mouth didn't seem to want to work, her body was frozen to the spot, and the only thing she could hear were the words the ninja woman had spoken combined with the phantom phrases shichou-san had revealed since she'd walked in.

_We gave you a choice, don't forget. It was you who made the final decision._

_The Land of Rice Fields has no military force! If you decide to wage a war against us on a mere whim_-

She was being bargained for the city. The mayor was freely handing her over to these ninja, and in such a furtive manner that she doubted anyone outside the people currently in the office even knew.

"_No_!" He'd thrown her to the wolves…probably because her only relative did not even live here. She felt a fierce stab of anger. _Yuuto! _It was his fault! If he had been around…if _he_ had raised her instead of leaving her at a _geisha house_ as a child-

Even as she thought this, she felt a twinge of guilt; finger pointing right now would not help. In the here and now there was only herself. _She_ had to get out of this. _She_ had to stop this and that meant she had to think fast. But she'd never had to _think_ before, not like _this_. She'd always gotten by on her appearances, on the subtle nuances of entertainment and art. Thinking on the spot had never been her forté.

"I have a boyfriend!" Too late she realized the childishness of her words.

"Then I suggest you say goodbye. You won't be seeing him again." the blonde did not seem to notice the blunder. Or perhaps she simply did not care. In truth she barely paid attention to her, signing something off on the scroll before gesturing impatiently to her. "Now get over here and sign your name." It wasn't enough, she realized with dread_._ She needed something serious, something so distasteful that the ninja would have no choice but to demand another girl. In a flash it came to her, and she blurted the idea, clinging to it like a drowning man.

"I'm having a baby! I'm pregnant with my boyfriend's child!" she'd heard enough talk to know that most men did not want the implications of another man's child. Even so, to utter the words was terribly embarrassing. Okasan would have a fit if she knew what a spectacle she was making of herself. Then again, she wondered what the woman would say if she knew that the mayor was trying to bargain her off like this. And to a ninja! The _idea_ of it… She _couldn't_ be a wife. Especially not the wife of some random killer-nin. Her hand splayed on her belly in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

This seemed to catch their attention, the possibility of a baby, and even the blonde paused long enough to glance at her stomach.

"Oh? How far along are you?" this was asked by the male, his painted face twisted in faint curiosity. Or was it amusement? Looking as such, she was struck again by how familiar he seemed, but the thought was quickly pushed aside.

"…eight months!" it was the first thing that came to her mind, and even as she said it, she realized the ridiculousness of the statement. The ninja apparently did too, for he stared down at her stomach, her _flat_ stomach wound tightly in an obi, before fixing her with a dull stare.

"You look pretty thin to be eight months pregnant. Must be something in the water over here."

The blonde deadpanned. "Don't encourage her idiocy, Kankuro…" whatever else she said was lost, for Sumomo spun on her heels and ran towards the door. It was a childish reaction, fight or flight, an extremely un-geisha thing to do. But what else _was_ there? Against ninja it was suicide to attack, and she didn't know how to fight anyway. And reasoning _obviously_ didn't work.

But she could run. She _would_ run, though the narrow cut of her kimono made it fairly difficult. She needed to get home, back to the okiya. Okāsan would know what to do. She wouldn't let these people…these _ninja_ come in and simply take her away. There were laws against this, weren't there? No one did these kinds of things, not in the Land of Rice Fields, not _anymore_-

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. How had she-??

"I wouldn't try that again. A woman in your 'condition' ought to be more careful." It was the male, his painted face looking eerily sinister above her felled form. In the background she was vaguely aware of the mayor speaking, voice raised and agitated. She opened her mouth, drawing breath to scream when her arm was suddenly wrenched from behind and she was hauled awkwardly to her feet. She found herself face to face with the blonde, who was watching her with a look of obvious disgust.

She thrust the pen in her hand, shoving her towards the desk.

"Sign your name! We've wasted enough time already."

She looked down at the paper, which was growing unexpectedly blurry. Could they really force her to sign? She swiped at her face, not even caring if her eye liner was smudged. Why had they come, _now_ of all times? When okāsan was nowhere to be found? When her brother was who-knows-where? The hand holding the pen trembled, and she tightened her fingers around it. If she left the city, who knew what they would do to her? They could kill her and no one would be any wiser.

"I can't leave the city." Her voice, despite the tears, was strangely calm. "Sumomo is important..."

The Blonde snorted. "You aren't important. You're just one of many idols this city mass produced to alleviate this land's bankruptcy. Regardless, you won't be…" here she paused seeming to search for a word, "'_entertaining'_ anymore," she finished finally, distaste written over her face. "Shinobi villages are hidden from the outside world. From now on, you don't exist."

Sumomo balked. To hear such a thing… her entire _existence_ was based on being noticed. She couldn't imagine _not_ being noticed. It was almost worse than being a wife. It was a double blow. She drew back from the desk, legs poised to run. They couldn't make her sign. The mayor had agreed, but _she_ had not. They couldn't make her—

"If you care anything at all about this…_'city'_," the ninja woman spoke as if it were something foul, "then I suggest you sign that paper." A threat. Probably not the first she would receive, she thought angrily. Why should she be concerned with a city so willing to sell her off in the first place? And what about her brother? She hadn't seen him in over a year. What would he say when he arrived to find she'd been taken away? His only surviving relative? She shook her head, hands flying to her face in a helpless gesture.

"I don't _understand_-_!_"

Now the ninja woman looked annoyed. She shot her an irritated look, not even bothering to turn fully towards her.

"Of course you don't. It isn't necessary that you understand."

Sumomo gaped open-mouthed at the woman. How many times had she been told that? She was _supposed_ to be cute and flighty and oblivious; even females found her adorable! People didn't want geisha who asked questions and seemed intelligent; it ruined the illusion. Until that moment, it had never really bothered her. Those words had always been spoken to her in indulgent tones of fondness and affection, but coming from the mouth of the ninja woman, they were the most derisive thing she'd ever heard.

And she hadn't even been _trying_ to sound oblivious!

"Shichou-san…?" the mayor looked away.

"Sign the paper, Sumomo-san."

Was that it then, she wondered bitterly? That she could be snagged off the streets and given to these foreigners without even an explanation? _Ninja_ foreigners, at that? Did she not even get a say? She'd never felt so helpless, so completely powerless over her own fate. She was an adult, a modern adult, and yet she felt as though she'd been transported to the feudal era. Who did these things anymore? And why_ her_? It was so random, so…so _arbitrary_, that it did not even make sense. _She_ was nothing special. She wasn't even the most sought after geisha. _That_ title went to Yukari.

So why wasn't _she_ here, instead of _her_?

It was wrong to think this way, but she felt only the vaguest sense of guilt over her self-preservation. It wasn't _her_ fault she was in this situation…but what good would it do blaming others? She could do that later. Right now she needed to leave, to get away from here, and the quickest way through the door seemed to be signing the paper. Lawyers frequented the teahouse, and she'd been around enough of them to know that signing constituted a legally binding contract. But what of _signing under duress_? Was it the same thing? She couldn't remember, hadn't really been paying attention to the drunken babble of the lawyers at the time. But being forced into something like this…surely any official could get her out of it.

Except that the mayor himself was an official, and he was the one who'd gotten her involved.

The ninja woman was watching her, clearly impatient. Probably one step away from grabbing her hand and forcing her signature, she thought bitterly. She didn't want the ninja touching her again. The very idea sent her thoughts into fits of panic. So she lifted her chin, gathered around her her pride. Geisha do not show fear, she repeated silently, though she'd already thrown that ideology out the window. She would yield, like the bough of a willow.

She signed her name.

Albeit slowly. She half expected her brother to storm through the door, eyes blazing, cursing everyone to kingdom come. Or perhaps okāsan with her stooped form and icy tongue. Or better yet, a bolt of lightning would spontaneously strike down the nin or-

Nothing happened. The ninja woman snatched the paper away, rolling it up, biting the side of her thumb and pressing the bloodied appendage to rolled scroll before tucking it in the sash of her obi. There was a strange look on her face, and briefly, fleetingly, Sumomo got the idea that the woman was just as unhappy with the events as she _herself_ was. Was it possible-?

But a moment later the feeling vanished, and the woman, realizing she was being watched, glared before turning away in an obvious dismissal.

"Dress for heat."

Sumomo felt as though she had just signed away her soul.

oOo

A/N: I'm by no means an expert on Japanese or geisha life; rather, most of the information on geisha I've gleaned from the books _Geisha, a Life_ by Mineko Iwasaki, _Geisha_ by Liza Dalby, _Autobiography of a Geisha_ by Sayo Masuda, and various studies over the internet. It's a given that many things in this fic will be misrepresented, but at the same time, several things will be changed to better accommodate for the Naruto Universe. This is my first Naruto fic, and I'd love to hear what you think so far, so please review!


	2. Chapter 2

_The stars have not dealt me the worst they could do:  
My pleasures are plenty, my troubles are two.  
But oh, my two troubles they reave me of rest,  
The brains in my head and the heart in my breast._

_Oh grant me the ease that is granted so free,  
The birthright of multitudes, give it to me,  
That relish their victuals and rest on their bed  
With flint in the bosom and guts in the head._

_A. E. Housman_, _**XVII**_

Shiro maku – wedding kimono  
Kanzashi - hair ornaments used in traditional Japanese hairstyles

oOo

Sumomo was good at adapting to mitigating circumstances.

She was good at navigating the murky waters of awkward conversation, was able to switch between playful and serious if the need arose. And she was good at _observing_; at remembering the little details and quirks unique to a person. Like how Umino-san favored his left leg and would always veer to the right when walking or kneeling. Or the way Tanaka-san hated curry and ended each sentence with a question. It was more than just a 'job'. One could not help but become attached to those people, especially the ones who had been there since the beginning, the ones who'd watched her grow from a shy, inexperienced apprentice into a full-fledged geisha. She'd been conditioned from an early age to adapt; to know when to be the butterfly: alluring, laughing, thrilling— or when to be the flower: coy and coquettish, a precisely placed ornament.

She'd never been trained to be a _wife_.

The concept was as foreign as it was repulsive. Wives were servants. They were _property_…and not the sort that was treasured, either. She'd heard the way wives were treated; living in households with their husband's relatives, being mistreated by in-laws, forced to stand mutely aside while their husbands consorted with mistresses, _reduced_ to bearing children and looking after aged in-laws for the rest of their days…she shuddered. And it would only be that much worse for her. Not only would she be a foreigner in a new country around no familiar faces, but she would be marrying a _killer_. Living in a _nest_ of killers. She felt sick just thinking it, and her fingers clawed in consternation against the silk material of her kimono.

It felt like a sham, this. To add insult to injury, that morning she'd been dressed as a bride. Her hair had been oiled and shaped and fitted with kanzashi. Her face, swollen and blotchy from tears, had been painted paper white, eyes rimmed in black kohl and then traced in red, lips stained a deep blood crimson. Ironically, if not for the snow white _shiro maku_, she'd almost look like she was going off to the teahouse to entertain. _Like a geisha_, she thought bitterly. Or rather, some strange mix of geisha and bride. She didn't _feel_ like a bride. But then, how were brides supposed to feel? Happy? Nervous? _Elated_ at the prospect of their new life? At the moment she didn't feel much of anything; just a tingling numbness.

She was grateful for it. After all, it kept the fear at bay, kept the underlying feelings of apprehension and dread and anger just beneath the surface and away from her consciousness. If she couldn't feel she wouldn't _think_. At least, this is what she'd _hoped_. She rather thought she'd been doing a good job at it thus far – she hadn't cried or teared up for the past three hours – but every time she looked down, every time her hands brushed against the silky material of the wedding kimono, she was reminded of _why_ she was here; of _why_ she was currently on a small charter plane, flying to who knew where, to meet her 'husband'.

_Husband_, she thought, shuddering again. And immediately the frail calm she'd managed to cultivate shattered like glass.

_Why? _

Why_ her? _There were four other geisha; why weren't any of _them_ chosen? Why was _she_ the one being sent away? It was a question she'd been asking herself since escaping the mayor's office, a question that even now –two days later- she had yet to find an answer to. She felt guilty thinking it, and perhaps a little selfish in wishing such misfortune on another, but even as she thought it, the feelings of guilt were overridden by growing resentment.

There had been no opportunity for goodbyes. She'd simply been uprooted and whisked away. Over the past several days she had not even been allowed to the bathroom alone; there was always a maid or servant or _someone_ waiting outside the door. No doubt they'd expected her to flee, and honestly the thought _had_ occurred to her. Why should she submit to a city which held no apparent regard for her life?

_But they threatened shichou-san_, a little voice reminded her_. They threatened war on the entire country if he had not complied. What was he supposed to have done…?_ She shut her eyes against the thought, mentally torn. Damn her conscience! It was so much easier to forget the people, to forget that she was being given away- in essence- to protect them.

She _hated_ them.

The rational part of her knew that this hatred was at least partially unfounded. The citizens themselves obviously knew nothing, and perhaps this was what made it so much worse. They'd go about their lives in blissful ignorance, never knowing how others – _namely_ _she_— had been made to suffer. And, she allowed grudgingly, perhaps the mayor really had _not_ had a choice in the matter all things considered, but this brought to mind a more foreboding issue: what had the city done to attract the attention of these ninja in the first place?

There was no reason to believe that she'd ever see anyone from Beikoku again. She knew this with a cold sort of certainty, even without being told. She saw it in the sad, quiet way okāsan– usually cold and reserved - gazed at her. She heard it in the stilted whispers of the servants who avoided her eyes and gave her false smiles of encouragement. She was already fading from their world; even before she'd physically departed.

It felt as though someone had taken her heart in a vice and squeezed. She would _never_ adapt to this, she thought miserably, glaring into her lap. Nothing in all her years of training had prepared her for such an event; music. Dance. Theatre. Tea ceremony. Flower arranging. _Calligraphy_. Once they'd been the highlight of her existence. She was _special_. No one could do the things she and the other girls did. They were _genuine_. It had always been something to be proud of.

It all seemed useless, now.

Her face crumbled.

Why had mother allowed her to leave? Why hadn't she _fought? _Pleaded? Come up with some alternate arrangement-? If it had been anyone else…any one of the other girls… if her _brother_ had been there, had been around like he was _supposed_ to be they wouldn't have chosen her. _If_—

A soft _mew_ cut through the silence, effectively interrupting her escalating thoughts, and she dropped a hollow gaze to the basket at her feet. A pair of pale, blue eyes blinked up at her. The kitten had been a gift from mother, given to her that very morning. It was a frighteningly tiny thing, and on some level she'd recognized it for what it was: a sordid attempt on the old woman's part to placate her after being _given away_—

She winced at the words.

Distantly, _objectively_, she felt a cold sort of pity for it. It had been gathered up on a whim, torn away from its little life and thrown to the dogs for the amusement of a single girl…_her_. It was still nursing according to mother, and Sumomo could only wonder at what had been going through the woman's head when she'd given her the thing.

She blinked back tears. If she cried now she didn't think she would be able to stop. She _couldn't_ cry now; it would ruin the eyeliner, leave muddy trails down her cheeks that would drip inky blots over her kimono. _I don't care_, she thought suddenly tired. It seemed dreadfully shallow, all things considered. She wasn't a geisha anymore. She didn't have to worry about looking perfect and being pristine or ruining the name of the okiya. She could cry and scream and be angry and messy if she so wished. It was a freedom she'd never considered. For this short time, at least until she met her husband, she belonged completely and wholly to herself.

But she _couldn't_.

It was like there was an invisible yoke around her. Even away from mother and her teachers she wasn't her own person. Years of conditioning kept her hands folded demurely in her lap, kept them from clawing away the mask-like paint on her face, from ripping the _shiro maku_ from her body in disgust. The blessed numbness she'd managed to achieve was gone. Or perhaps it had never been there. Perhaps that too was simply a product of conditioning. Her gaze turned immediately to her right, to where there _should_ have been a window but was only wall.

Why didn't the plane have _windows_? What kind of plane _didn't_ have windows? She had no idea where she was or whether they were flying over ocean or mountains. It was akin to being blind-folded, and the feeling made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Like being in a prison. _Blindfolded_. But then, she'd never been on a plane before and had nothing to compare the experience _to_. Perhaps this was normal in charter flights. Perhaps it was to prevent motion sickness. Or vertigo. Or _something_. She might even have dozed if not for the looming threat that lay ahead at the end of the journey. But no, the flight was too long, she had access to none of her luggage which might have provided _some_ amusement, and she was the only one on the plane save for whomever was flying it. It gave her too much time to think, to feel. It provided the perfect breeding ground for all sorts of anxieties to take root.

Like, what sort of man was her 'husband'?

It was upsetting to think of, even in passing. She had no idea how to be a wife, had no desire to learn, even as okāsan, on the eve of her departure, had sat her down, quietly explaining what was expected of her that night. "He probably won't pay much attention to you at all after that," mother had mused, sounding fairly confident. "Wives hold no allure to a man after the first time."

Perhaps she had thought to ease her fears with those words, though they'd ultimately had the opposite effect. Her panic had amplified, driven further by the reality that she'd soon be _with_ this man. This _stranger_. This _ninja_. As a consort. She would be a second class citizen in a foreign country—_village_—of ninja. Married to their king. Kage. _Kazekage_.

Kazekage.

_Kazekage_.

The title had been imprinted in her head for days. From the reverent manner the nin had spoken of him in the mayor's office to the fearful quailing of the mayor himself, she could not forget it. _Kazekage_. It sounded great and terrible all at once. _Which_, she reasoned uneasily, _he must be_, to command the respect and allegiance of killers. After all, the only thing a predator feared was an even _greater_ predator. Did this mean that her 'husband' was worse than the other nin? That he was even more of a killer than the others? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

She regretted signing her name on that scroll. At the time it had seemed like the fastest way out of the office. She'd been certain that there was a way around it, that there was a way to void it. But everything had happened so _fast_. Mother had relented to the decision. Her brother had not come. The geisha had simply _disappeared_—

She froze, shaking, staring down again at the little orange creature in the basket. It was peering up at her with owlish eyes, its tiny nose twitching. Despite the fact that its eyes were slightly crossed, the little gaze seemed oddly intelligent. She was just leaning over, reaching a hesitant, shaky finger towards it when the doors to the cockpit slid open.

She jumped, and the kitten, perhaps startled by her movements, begin to cry. At least she _guessed_ it was crying. Its _mews_ sounded very much the same to her, like the tinkering of a bell. At a loss, she rocked the basket and stared accusingly up at the door.

A ninja.

Immediately her glare froze. She shouldn't honestly have been surprised, but the shock of seeing another one so suddenly and in such close proximity sent icy tendrils of fear budding through her. He could kill her right now if he so chose, and there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She hadn't thought there was anyone else on board the plane besides the pilot…or was _he_ the pilot? It was hard to tell. He was slightly taller than the two she'd seen earlier, and older as well. His skin was as dark as the others had been, but he himself was clothed in a pea green militia style uniform. She couldn't see his hair; it was covered by a turban-like head wrap positioned in such a way that it completely cloaked the left side of his face.

His eyes, darkly rimmed, settled briefly on the kitten, on her pale hand gripping the handle of the basket, and a heavy frown formed between his brows. She held her breath as the seconds ticked by. The silence roared in her ears. Eventually his eyes moved up to meet her own, and she quickly dropped her gaze.

"We'll touch-down in fifteen minutes," he said finally. His voice was a deep tenor with the same guttural accent as the other nin. "Be ready." The door slid shut and she released a breath, pulling the basket into her lap and hugging it to her.

oOo

Her first impression of Wind Country was not a good one.

The last true image she had of Beikoku were of the cherry trees that lined the okiya. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the scent- a gentle, subtle fragrance on the breeze- could see the delicate blush pink of the blossoms, feel the featherlike softness of the petals against her cheek—

That memory shattered once the glare of the sun wore off.

There were no trees here. She saw this immediately. Had she paid more attention in geography she might have already known. But she'd never had the patience for geography or math or science; she'd done enough to get by and no one had argued. After all, what geisha need concern herself with such a thing? It wasn't as if she'd ever actually _use_ that knowledge… How would it have helped her to know that even the sky here was harsh and scorched, that there was not even a cloud in sight? The deep blue of the atmosphere was non-existent in this place; the sky above was a strange color, somewhere between orange and pale blue, as if the very sun _itself_ had burnt the color away…

And the _heat_.

_THE HEAT_. It hit her with the force of a cannonball. She'd stepped from the plane mere seconds ago, but already the sun was like fire against her skin, like a heavy blanket. Like stepping, quite literally, into a sweltering oven. The thick layers of kimono she wore only served to make it worse. Within seconds she was panting as though she'd run a marathon, and it was only a matter of time before her makeup melted away. If it hadn't _already_.

She _couldn't_ stay here. _She couldn't!_ How could _anyone_ could survive here? Where did they _live? How_ did they live? There was _nothing_..._!_

Movement behind her had her taking hesitant steps forward, carefully gathering the trailing kimono hem in her left hand while balancing the basket in her right. She descended the plane in a tottering shuffle, eyes settling on the people below. More nin, she counted nervously. Six of them. They wore the same militia green as the one behind her from the plane—

Her sandal touched the ground before she noticed, and she was shocked and suddenly frightened when her foot simply sank into the sand. Clearly zori were not meant to be worn in such an environment. Every twist she made only seemed to result in her sinking further, _deeper_, and she finally stopped, peeking nervously through lashes at the landscape around her.

Sand. _Everywhere_ there was sand. Rough and dry and dead. Even breathing, now that she was on the ground, was difficult. It left her nose and throat feeling scratchy and hoarse, as though she were swallowing sand instead of air. _This_ was where she was to live? she thought again, aghast. She'd been taken from her opulent, flowery home for _this_? A scorched sky and a dead land? She felt suddenly, inexplicably faint.

"I tell you to dress for heat and _this_ is what you wear?" She jerked at the voice, nearly dropping the basket, and came face to face with the female ninja from the mayor's office. The hair and cloths were the same, the expression still curled in contempt, but she looked fierce and beautiful in a way that Sumomo had never seen. _Her_ feet, she noticed, were on _top_ of the sand, though this might have had more to do with the type of shoes the woman wore.

She didn't know at first how to respond; the woman was like a shock of icy water and she was still stinging from their last meeting. _My_, she thought bitterly. What would mother say to know that she, a geisha, had been rendered speechless by a _female _of all things? She pushed the annoyance aside, willing her features to slip into civility.

"Your pretty hair and cloths will be ruined, _princess,_" the woman continued, not sounding as though it would bother her at all. She sounded as though she _wanted_ it to happen. Behind the paint, Sumomo felt her face flush with anger, felt the careful manners that had been drilled into her as a child slipping. It wasn't as though she had any control over her clothing. Certainly she would not have _chosen_ to wear this…! The okiya owned every article of clothing she wore. She was lucky, she supposed, that they had allowed her the clothes the maids had packed away for her, especially since she was no longer an investment to them. Still, the comment stung, and she was trying to decide how best to respond, what sort of response would wipe the contemptuous sneer from her face, when the blonde spoke again. Her accent was so thick that she had to repeat herself twice before Sumomo understood.

"We aren't taking that _thing_ with us," the blonde growled, glaring down into the basket. Her eyes must have been exceptionally good, because the basket was swathed in linen. She herself couldn't even _see_ the kitten. It must have burrowed down to the bottom to escape the sun. She stared back up at the blonde, who crossed her arms and inclined her head as though speaking to an insolent child. One that was seconds away from being throttled. Sumomo got mad.

"Why not?," she asked, proud of the fact that her voice didn't waver. The blonde's lips curled in what could only be termed as disgust.

"Do you know where we're going? That thing wouldn't last a _second_ in Suna. Neither would _you_ for that matter. I doubt you've ever even soiled your pampered little hands on an animal before." Here she smirked. "You act like you're afraid to even _touch_ it." It was true, she realized then. She'd been holding the basket carefully, arm taunt and away from her body. She lowered it now, but the blonde's smirk deepened knowingly.

Sumomo didn't want the cat. Really, she didn't. She had planned to get rid of it at the first possible opportunity, maybe pass it along to some child or a lonely old woman. But suddenly keeping it was the most important thing in the world. It wasn't even _about_ the kitten, not really. It was more the principal. It was about proving the arrogant blonde ninja wrong. Even more, it was about retaining _some_ semblance of control over her life. She hugged the basket to her, lifted her chin and stared willfully back at the woman in the universal gesture of defiance. She was, after all, the Kazekage's _wife_. _Surely_ this allotted _some_ amount of power. Who did this woman think she was?!

Or at least, that's what she _wanted_ to say. Her tongue felt thick, her brain had frozen. She wasn't used to confrontations, and beside this woman she felt both silly and weak. The blonde literally looked as though she wanted to strike her.

"_Temari_."

The voice was deep, persistent. She hadn't realized she'd broken eye contact with the woman until she found herself staring up into the face of the male nin. The same one from the office. Immediately she was struck by two things; the first was that for whatever reason, these nin were not dressed as the others. The blonde, _Temari_ as she'd been called, still wore the short, pale kimono she'd worn back in Beikoku. Her male companion was still swathed head to toe in black. Neither wore the vest and turban combo of the others. The second thing she noticed was that the paint on the man's face she'd initially taken for red was actually more of a plum color. In the sun and away from the shadows of the office, the design was reminiscent of a kabuki actor.

Kabuki. _Ninja_. The combination might have been amusing, and she felt nervous laughter building in the back of her throat …except that the realization of this didn't make him any less threatening. He gave her an impassive once over, eyes lingering on the _shiro maku _and narrowing just slightly_. _Casually, lazily, his gaze flicked back to the blonde's. No words were exchanged and the moment lasted mere seconds, but Sumomo, who was trained to read facial expressions and body language, knew immediately that _something_ had been communicated between them.

The heated air around her chilled.

And then the blonde was turning away, barking orders, the male was walking past her to speak with the nin from the plane, and she was left alone in the sand.

The urge to flee was strong.

Nothing had been said beyond the woman's biting comments - which could easily be written off as simple female moodiness - and the nin around her did not even appear to be paying attention to her. But there was still _something_. She couldn't shake the feeling that_ s_omething about this seemed terribly, terribly wrong. _Besides_ the obvious. She felt a droplet of sweat run down her back between her shoulder blades, and shifted uncomfortably. Her feet were still buried up to her ankles in sand. She was sure that the tabi socks she wore were completely ruined. And even if they _weren't,_ she knew she would never be able to wear or even look at them again without remembering this day. With some effort, she managed to drag a foot out, taking a few stumbling steps forward. It was a little like walking in snow, she mused, except much worse. At least with snow she knew that there was ground beneath it. Here, with the sand, there was no such reassurance. Her entire body could be sucked right through to the bottom…!

It was a childish thought, but at the moment seemed a very real fear. Standing still seemed to make her sink faster, so she took another hesitant step. If she was careful, she found, if she distributed her weight evenly on her entire foot instead of just her toes, she didn't sink as much. Of course, walking this way was both impractical and tiring, but… She abruptly stopped, staring wide eyed at the painted faced male who was suddenly a mere arms length away, blocking her path. She had not even seen him move up and yet suddenly he was here.

"What were you doing?," he asked gruffly, irritated. Sumomo didn't answer, backed away slowly, still clutching at her kimono train. He did not seem bothered by the heat at all; probably he was used to it. He stood straight in the sand - which was odd because she remembered him slouching in the office- and though his eyes were hooded, he did not seem troubled by the sun's glare. The ninja watched her silently, considering, and once again she was hit with the urge to run. That full on gaze was disconcerting. It released a primal instinct she couldn't explain, except that it made her feel like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a snake. When he spoke, his throaty voice sounded flat and unamused.

"Do you know what a sandstorm is?" He didn't wait for an answer, merely forged ahead. _"Tons _of swirling wind and sand coming at you. Out here they happen so fast that you wouldn't notice until it was right up on you." He paused to stare down at her, his dark eyes suddenly piercing. "A sandstorm can bury you in _minutes_. No one would ever find your body. Remember that the next time you think of wandering off." He turned abruptly away, to what looked to be a horseless carriage; something that had probably been there since they'd landed, but that she had neglected to notice till now. A part of her marveled at the fact that these people, these _nin_, seemingly had enough technology to have an airplane at their disposal, but still had something as ancient as a _carriage_ around for transportation.

The other part of her wondered if the speech she'd just been given had been a warning or a threat.

And then she was being directed towards the buggy, hustled inside. It was a relief being out of the sun, and strangely, _miraculously_, it appeared to have air-conditioning, though she could not tell where the actual air was coming from. She reveled in it; closing her eyes, turning up her face, taking deep breaths of the artificial air. The seats were hard and covered in what looked to be old leather, brown and frayed and clearly not meant for luxury. She'd been inside carriages before on numerous occasions. But those had been cute, brightly colored replicas of antiquity built mostly for appearance and not actual travel._ These_ windows were tightly sealed and scuffed, made of what looked to be thick plastic or clear vinyl. But at least it _had_ windows. Even if the actual view through them was so distorted and murky that she couldn't actually _see_ anything.

She barely had time to dwell on it before the kabuki ninja was sliding in beside to her. She froze. She wasn't sure what was worse. The empty solitude of the plane ride or _this_. Being in such close confines with one of… _them_. There was barely any room in here for _her_; combined with the stocky nin it was even more of a pinch. She gathered her kimono, pushing herself to the opposite end of the buggy wall as far away from the nin as possible. It was vaguely reassuring, she guessed, realizing that the nin did not appear happy to be there. He wore an unpleasant scowl as he glanced in her direction. _Well, the feeling's mutual_, she thought huffily, and quickly averted her gaze. The blonde was hovering near the door, frowning, and Sumomo sent up a quick prayer. The Gods must have heard her because the woman did not join them. She could be thankful for small miracles, at least. Hopefully she'd never have to deal with the woman again. Hopefully she would never _see_ the woman again.

The two nin exchanged words, but again their strange accents were so thick and they spoke so rapidly that it was impossible for her to interpret anything. Would she have trouble understanding _everyone_ here? It would make things difficult. More difficult than they were already _going_ to be, she added wearily.

The ride was strangely silent.

The man, whom she had silently dubbed 'kabuki-nin', didn't pick a fight with her as the blonde had. He did not even glance in her direction, except to frown at the kitten who had finally poked its head out to look around. His makeup as well as the stony expression he wore was enough to detour any sort of conversation or questions on her part. And she had several. She wondered again how he had seen her at the tea house. Obviously he had been there, but she did not remember seeing anyone like him. Anyone as foreign and with an accent as strange as his would have stood out like a sore thumb. Even his build was different. He was stocky and compact, the polar opposite of the lanky men of Rice Country. Certainly she would have noticed…! But asking him would be encouraging conversation, and she barely felt comfortable being so close to a nin, much less trying to talk to _one_.

She turned stiffly back to the window. It had grown increasingly foggy out, and the carriage rocked with every roll of the wheel. She assumed it was motorized; she had not remembered seeing a horse unless it had been hitched up afterwards. Perhaps it was not a carriage at all. The shape was slightly different, the width of the wheels too thick and ridged. A spray of something exploded on the window. A few moments later she realized that what she'd taken for fog was actually _sand_. Sand, flying wildly at the window, pummeling the carriage, turning the glaring day into hazy darkness. She clutched the basket to her. There was a noise like the wail of the wind, a dry hissing, like autumn leaves against a beaten path.

They slowed to a snails crawl.

When the carriage abruptly halted, she found her hands tightening on the basket handle, white knuckled. Was something wrong? Nervously she turned to kabuki-nin, but he too was staring out the window. To break down now would be disastrous. They'd be stranded for hours in this weather, and from the pounding, rocking carriage she didn't know if it would hold. Surely they would be pushed over…buried beneath the sand? She looked again out the window and into the storm. Only minutes had passed since she'd last looked, but suddenly the wind was a howling, blowing mess. Perhaps they would simply wait out the storm. It wasn't as if they had much of a _choice—_

This idea, however, was thrown out the window with kabuki-nin's next words. "This is it. We walk the rest of the way." Her jaw dropped.

"…_excuse _me?"

For a moment she thought she'd misunderstood. Walk? _Her_? Here? NOW?! She could not even see the sun, so thick was the sand. Kabuki-nin shifted, rolled the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, casting an unconcerned, almost bored glance out into the storm.

"Yeah," he drawled finally. "You know. Protocol and all that. Can't let outsiders see the entrance of the village."

_Outsiders_. She was marrying their Kage, and yet she was _still_ an 'outsider'? She bristled. While she could understand a _little_ of their apparent reluctance to trust a foreigner, this was taking it to the extreme. What did they think? That she would go back and give out directions to their village? She doubted she'd be able to even if she'd wanted. She'd barely paid attention during the journey, and the desert she'd seen thus far looked so much alike that the point was moot anyway. It would take a special kind of fool to brave this sand and sun just to come out to a village in the middle of _nowhere_.

And what difference did it make if she saw? The ninja woman Temari had said she she'd be a 'citizen of Sunagakure' after she signed the marriage scroll. It wasn't as if she actually even cared about their stupid village, she thought angrily. She was not _dressed_ to do any walking. She wore at least 40 pounds of clothing and had on layers of makeup. Combined with the sand and wind, not to mention the _heat_, she would not get far on foot. She glanced back to the nin beside her, whose expression looked decidedly bored. How could he be so _calm_ about it? He'd just warned how dangerous sandstorms were, and yet he seemed so nonchalant about this one, even going so far as to declare that they _walk_ in it.

And what was she to do with the kitten?, she wondered panicked. How would she transport it in a storm like this? It would be whipped from her hands, buried in sand before she would even be able to retrieve it. And if he got sand in his eyes she didn't know what she'd do, how she would get it out, and her kimono had no pockets. Finally, seeing no alternative, she settled on tucking him into the folds of her kimono, between her breasts. The bands she wore flattened them down to near obscurity, but her obi was stiff enough to prevent him from slipping down. She fit the collar close and placed a hand over the little bump. He wriggled and struggled and hissed and cried and she feared he would drop out, but it would have to do. Beside her, the ninja watched her with an unreadable expression.

"Ready?" His brow cocked in what she might have tagged as either amusement or impatience, but there was something deadly serious in the way he watched her, as if he were expecting her to strike. She didn't get a chance to respond. The door opened, and she was immediately engulfed in sand and wind.

The force of that heated wind was _overpowering_. It literally took her breath away. She felt herself scooting backwards, further into the carriage, away from the open door and into the chest of the nin, but he simply pushed her forward, sliding after her. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, unconsciously digging her heels into the floor, trying to halt the ninja's insistent pushing, trying to collect herself; she wasn't ready to—

He gave a hard shove, and she was tumbling from the carriage, barely able to straighten her legs in time. The sting of sand hit her with shattering force, and her body froze. Someone – whomever had opened the door, she guessed - caught her roughly around the waist before she actually hit the ground, for which she was grateful, but a moment later they let go, and she was left deserted in the midst of the storm, scarcely daring to move. If she opened her eyes, she would be blinded, she was sure. The force of it alone was painful, and the pounding wind and debris made it difficult to breathe. The kabuki-nin's words came back hauntingly:

_A sandstorm can bury you in minutes. No one would ever find you. _

She saw the truth to those words now. She could barely move her feet; already she was being covered by it. She couldn't see...couldn't hear, except for the lonely wail of wind, the snakelike hiss of sand. If she moved - even an _inch_ - she'd probably fall over, and with the weight of her cloths and the wind at her back, she wouldn't be able to get back up again; the sand would bury her that much faster. Desperately, she held out an arm. Where was the carriage?! It had been behind her but she'd gotten twisted in the fall...which way was she facing? _Oh God…_she was going to _die_—

Someone grabbed her outstretched arm, albeit roughly, and she felt a wave of relief, latching on desperately, burying her face into their shoulder as they led her trudging through the raging storm.

It was _hell_. There was no other way to describe it. Her kimono, her beautiful, ornate wedding kimono was completely and utterly wrong for sand. Absurdly long, it drug the ground and was much too heavy and bulky to wear in such an environment. Usually she would lift the hem as she walked, but since neither of her hands was free – her left arm was hooked with the ninja leading her while her right was supporting the wriggling kitten at her breast – she could do nothing. She tried to tug her arm away from the nin- it was too sandy to risk talking- but the shinobi's grip only tightened.

Finally, after she'd tripped for the umpteenth time, the nin seemed to realize what was going on, and let go of her long enough for her to lift the now dirty train before catching her arm again. It made walking _slightly_ more bearable, but the lacquered zori sandals she wore were grossly inappropriate for such a trek. They kept slipping on her feet, sinking into the sand, making the walk that much more difficult. The nin's long strides were hard to keep up with, and the tubular fit of her kimono prevented her from taking longer steps. She was effectively being drug. _Like a sack_, she thought dimly, and would have been mortified if not for the stabbing pain from the sand, for the relentless heat, for the pounding wind.

She felt like crying, suspected that she probably _was_, though she couldn't tell if the liquid running from her eyes was from the sand and wind or was simply tears. They were doing it on purpose, she was sure. _Surely_ they could see how inappropriately dressed she was for such weather, how unused to hiking she was. They probably found it humorous to see her so _disconcerted_-

A gust of sand filled wind caught her; she clutched at the arm beside her, felt the ninja wince just slightly before carrying on. Her mouth was dry, every part of her was sweaty and exhausted, and she could no longer feel the kitten moving. Was it even still _breathing_—? But she couldn't stop to check because the nin was still pulling. She could feel the tension in his arm, the obvious effort it was taking to simply get her to _move_. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, just when she feared she might collapse from the sheer effort of trying to stay upright, of trying to _breathe_, the wind began to lesson. It did not stop completely, but the sand, without the strength of the wind behind it, was falling away.

Cautiously, mindful of the sand, she opened an eye. The sun was absolutely _blinding_ without the cloud of sand obscuring it. It made her eyes tear and run, and it took another several moments of blinking before she was able to open them completely. She almost regretted when she did.

They were surrounded by ninja. Hundreds of them, all around her, dressed in the now familiar green vest and turban combo. Their blurred forms were _everywhere,_ melting together, though for the life of her she could not figure out how they had even found their way around in such a storm. Her stomach dropped. Was it necessary that this many of them be here? Even if they'd simply come to escort her she saw no point to it. At most, _five_ would have been sufficient. But these…they looked as though they were preparing for war.

Was _this_ protocol as well?

To her left, the ninja shifted and she released the arm she'd been holding in a death grip. It had been kabuki-nin, she realized dazedly. He moved forward without even a glance in her direction, and she felt a flash of irritation. She'd never been discarded so readily before by _anyone_. He acted as though she were something vile, not to be touched. Sumomo thought it exceedingly rude…not to mention more than a little embarrassing to be treated as such. Still, she followed stiltedly behind, sloshing through the sea of sand, eyes trained on his back and struggling to keep pace with him.

She _couldn't_.

The sand was too thick. She was too exhausted to keep going, could barely lift her feet to take a step, and her throat and pride were too beaten and dry to call out. The weight of her kimono seemed 100 times heavier now that it was weighted with sand. And the sand, newly stirred by the storm, was even thicker now than it was before.

The heat was oppressive. If she stopped, even for a moment, she wouldn't be able to keep going, she knew. But she found she couldn't dredge up the energy to care. She _needed_ to stop. She stood bent over the burning sand, a thin hand braced limply against her thigh. Sitting seemed an even better idea, but the thought of further ruining the snowy kimono was enough of a deterrent to keep her from doing so. She wished she had a drink. She wished she could submerge herself in an icy pool of water and stay there forever.

But even pausing for a breath was a bad idea. The sun, the _heat_ was relentless, and no matter how many gulps of air she took she could not seem to catch her breath. The wind, hot and dry, stole it away before it even reached her lungs. She lifted a hand to her face in a half-hearted attempt to block the glaring rays. Was her vision blurring, or was it the heat making everything look swimmy? On top of everything else she was going to have sunburn before the day was over, she thought crossly. She wished she had her parasol but it was packed away with the rest of her belongings. _Somewhere_. She had no idea where her luggage was at the moment. Was it still on the plane? It certainly had not been loaded onto the carriage—

Absently, she squinted again at the blurred bodies around her, more for something to do than out of any real curiosity, and noticed one she'd not seen before.

A lone figure, dressed in what could have been white or yellowed robes, standing in the center of the lined shinobi. Obviously male, from the stance and the cut of the shoulders, but beyond that she could not make out any specifics. He was wearing a hat, this she could tell, something that might have been indistinctly conical. He was too far away for her to even get an inkling of his face, but he seemed to be watching her.

But then, _everyone_ was watching her, the geisha from the Land of Rice Fields. She was used to being watched and on display, but the gazes on her now were not the usual admiration. The expressions themselves were notably blank, but something was wrong. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that she was in the company of such dangerous men, but something about their gazes left her feeling on edge. She looked away, shutting her eyes against the stares and the glare of the sun. The earth seemed to tilt.

A moment later she was picking herself up off the ground, palms flat against the sand. She must have fallen, she thought dizzily, but she did not remember or even feel it. The palms of her hand were stinging, and her breath came in heavy, ragged gasps. From somewhere above her there was a curse, and then the soft padding of footsteps in sand before a shadow passed over her.

She was jerked to her feet. Someone said…said…_something_. It sounded distant and hollow, as though she was hearing it through the other side of a tunnel. She made a cursory attempt to answer, but her tongue did not seem to want to work.

And when her eyes slid shut the second time, it occurred to her that she could not even find solace in darkness. The sun was so obtrusive that it broke through even the shades of unconsciousness.

O

Authors Note: This chapter has been written and rewritten from scratch about 6 times already. _I kid you not_. I haven't figured out whether I'm just THAT picky about things or if I seriously have some weird obsessive compulsion. (I'm starting to suspect it may be the latter.) I'm still not _completely_ satisfied with this chapter, but then, I always find about a million other things I could have done differently after it's posted. Thanks for the reviews on last chapter! I enjoy reading your thoughts. (and they're quite encouraging!) In case there is any confusion, when Sumomo refers to 'mother' she means the 'okāsan, who is the okiya proprietress. This woman is not her _real_ mother. 'Mother' is just a title the geisha use when referring to her. Likewise when she says 'sisters' she is referring to the other geisha.

I've been so busy lately that I haven't had a chance to really do any reading on the site. I'm looking forward to getting back into reading fan fiction in the coming weeks.


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